


Broken

by SqueakGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Angst, Bickering, Castiel's Grace, Comforting Castiel, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:12:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqueakGirl/pseuds/SqueakGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds the old reading glasses he and Sam burned with holy oil. Hellhounds aren't the only thing these glasses can see. Dean can see Castiel's wings - or what's left of them. But what's an angel without their wings?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> A quick little story about Castiel's wings and Dean being able to see them. Nothing more to it. I just really like the idea that those glasses Dean burned with holy oil can be used to see angel wings.

Dean found them resting in the corner of the Impala’s trunk that morning. Two pairs of reading glasses he and Sam had burned with holy oil in order to see hellhounds. They were an unremarkable pair of glasses, smudged with fingerprints and still smelling of oil and fire. 

Shrugging to himself, Dean began to pack the glasses away in a small box when he got a sudden idea. He put Sam’s pair of glasses away and pocketed his own. He then shut the Impala’s trunk and headed out of the Bunker’s garage.

As he entered the main level of the Bunker, he donned the glasses and began to glance about the room. These Men of Letters were a tricky, secretive sort, so Dean wouldn’t put it past those bookworms to have hidden rooms or passageways where more books and supernatural paraphernalia might be kept. Perhaps, some kind of magical spell for opening hiding places might reveal itself to him with these glasses. 

He entered the Bunker’s library and squinted at the bookcases. Nothing. He glanced under the tables. Nope. Under the stairs. Nada.

After ten minutes of combing the room, Dean had grown bored and was just about to remove the glasses when Castiel walked in.

“Hello, Dean,” announced Castiel in his usual monotone. He gave Dean a small smile as he continued, “Sam called me just now. He and Jody found the vampire nest. It appears that there were only two, so Sam and Jody won’t be needing backup for this Hunt. Are you alright, Dean?”

Castiel stopped in the middle of the room a few feet from Dean who stood unmoving, his jaw slightly ajar.

“What it is?” Castiel pressed, his brow knitting. “What are those glasses?”

Dean gave his head a little shake. Slowly, he reached up and took off the glasses. He stared at Castiel for a moment and then returned the glasses to the bridge of his nose, his eyes widening as he did.

“Cas….”

Castiel began to look panicked. “What is it? Dean, what’s wrong?”

“Your wings.” Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper. For he could see them now. No more were they invisible to him, with only their shadows to represent their etherealness. But Castiel’s wings were no longer full, but broken and spindly – like some sickly raven’s wings that had been plucked and battered by a heavy storm. As Dean watched, Castiel’s wings moved as he moved, but without fluidity or grace; rather they moved as the limbs of a malnourished tree moved when swept along by the wind.

“What?” Castiel managed to say, he had gone rigid at Dean’s words. Dean watched as Castiel instinctively pulled his ruined wings closer to his body, as if they were some kind of shield. 

Dean took off the glasses again and held them out to Castiel. Giving Dean an odd look, Castiel accepted the reading glasses and examined them. Slowly, his face softened with realization.

“Ah,” he said quietly after a pause, “holy oil.” He handed the glasses back to Dean who put them on for a third time. Castiel stood up straighter, glancing uncomfortably about the Bunker’s library. Through the glasses Dean saw Castiel’s wings hug tighter around his body.

“Dude, Cas, I didn’t know they looked so – I mean – that’s what happened to them when Metatron…?” Dean stumbled with the words. “’Cause your Grace is…?”

“Yes.” Was all Castiel would say. 

“Will – will they grow back?” Dean asked, he’d taken a few steps closer to Castiel.

“Dean, please take those off,” Castiel rasped, pleading. Dean obeyed.

“Sorry. I, uh, didn’t mean – just damn, Cas. I remember how huge their shadows were –” Dean stopped, catching the wounded look in Castiel’s eyes. 

Tucking the glasses back into his shirtfront pocket, Dean moved to stand at Castiel’s side.

“I suppose it’s fitting,” Castiel muttered suddenly, his hands curling into fists. “I’ve always been told I’m broken in one way or another. Now I have the wings to match.”

Dean gripped Castiel shoulder, turning him around to look him in the eye.

“Cas, don’t say that – we’re gonna find a way to fix your Grace problem, okay? You know me, I’ll drive the Impala up a goddamn mountainside if I have to –” Dean rambled. Castiel placed a hand over the one Dean held at his shoulder. Dean quieted.

“You are kind, Dean,” Castiel said with a sad smile. “But it was not just my Grace I was talking about.” He shook his head. “I’ve never been a very good angel. I’ve never been much like the others.”

“No, that’s because you’re better than those assholes,” Dean declared. 

“Those ‘assholes’ are still my family, Dean,” Castiel replied calmly. “And despite our differences – it still hurts when I can’t get along with them. I’ve just always had my cracks, my brokenness getting in the way.”

“Stop saying you’re broken, Cas,” Dean grumbled, catching hold of Castiel’s other shoulder and giving him a shake. “Forget that, okay?”

Castiel dropped his gaze to the floor. “It’s hard to forget when my wings remind me of my failures. At least when I was human, my brokenness was simply metaphorical.”

Without warning Dean shoved Castiel away from him. 

“Dammit, Cas,” he snapped.

Castiel stumbled back a few feet before righting himself and glaring at Dean. 

“You know what, Cas,” Dean said, pointing a finger at him. “You ever stop and think that you aren’t the only one broken ‘round here? You ever think that? Hell, I’m broken. My sorry ass is broken six ways from Sunday.”

Castiel clenched his fists. “Forgive me if I’ve upset you with my melancholy, Dean. I should have rejoiced at the fact that you were now suddenly able to see a manifestation of my shame and vulnerability. I suppose we can’t all wear our mistakes on our sleeves like you.”

Dean balked, instinctively grabbing at his right arm where the Mark of Cain waited hidden beneath the sleeve of his jacket.

“You know what, bite me, Cas,” Dean growled. “Here I was trying to be nice, telling you that you didn’t need to feel this way –”

“Well, thank you, Dean. However would I have handled my own problems without you instructing me on how I should feel,” Castiel countered. 

“Well you are an angel,” Dean shot back. “Got to have someone telling you what to think and feel.”

Dean knew before the words completely left his mouth he’d hit a nerve. Castiel took a sharp intake of breath, but said nothing. He just nodded his head towards Dean and then walked out of the Bunker’s library.

After a half-hour of attempting and failing to occupy himself with re-cleaning the kitchen, Dean marched down the Bunker’s hallways to Castiel’s room. He stood outside the closed door with his fist raised, ready to knock. Twice he dropped his arm and tried to walk away, only to curse himself under his breath and return to Castiel’s door. Finally, he gave so quick a knock it barely sounded in the muffled silence of the Bunker. 

But Castiel heard it and opened his door slowly to glare at Dean through the crack. Dean rubbed the back of his neck, staring at his shoes.

“‘m sorry,” Dean mumbled.

“I beg your pardon?” Castiel asked, opening the door a little wider.

Dean frowned. “You heard me. I’m not repeating it.”

The two stared at each other for a moment before Castiel stepped back and let the door fall open completely.

“I’m sorry as well. I was being petulant. My wings are just a sore subject…figuratively and literally at times,” Castiel explained, rolling his shoulders self-consciously. He sat down on the edge of his bed; Dean leaned against the desk.

“I was being an ass,” Dean noted, not catching Castiel’s eye. He looked thoughtful for a moment, frowning. “Do your wings hurt now?”

“I have heard that when a human loses a limb that they can still feel it from time to time. They feel it so deeply that they swear that lost limb is still attached,” Castiel said, clasping his hands together in his lap. He rolled his shoulders. “And sometimes when it rains or the weather shifts unexpectedly, humans say they feel pain in the stumps where their limbs once were. That feeling is not unlike how I feel now with my wings.”

Dean nodded. 

“I didn’t know.”

“I don’t particularly like talking about it,” Castiel confessed. 

“Yeah, I got that.”

“You have to understand, Dean, my wings were not some superfluous decoration or some quick means of transportation. My wings were me – losing them was like losing a limb. Even more like losing an identity…what is an angel without their wings?”

Dean shifted, his gaze darting to catch Castiel’s eyes. “You’re still Cas,” Dean said. “Even if you are broken. You’re still Cas.”

“Thank you,” Castiel replied still with a note of sadness. “And even if you are broken,” Castiel began, nodding to Dean’s right arm. “You’re still Dean.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, clamping his left hand down on his right arm just below the elbow.

“Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel sat for a moment, his look thoughtful. He then stood up and moved to stand before Dean. Without saying a word, he reached into Dean’s shirt pocket and pulled out the glasses. Dean shifted, but he allowed Castiel to place them on the end of his nose.

“Why did you never tell me about these?” Castiel whispered still standing in Dean’s personal space, their heads close and breath mingling, fogging the glasses slightly. 

Dean gave a quick glance over Castiel’s shoulders before answering. “Needed them to see a hellhound.”

“I see.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think they’ll grow back?” Castiel asked in a small voice, craning his neck over his shoulder to peak at his damaged wings. His eyes were wet when he returned his gaze to Dean.

“I don’t know, man,” Dean said honestly, his voice faltering. He raised a hand towards where he could see the bend in Castiel’s wings sticking out over the angel’s shoulder. He hesitated, realizing what he was doing and dropped his hand. “Um, can you move them much?”

“A little.” 

Dean watched as Castiel carefully extended the bony, nearly featherless wings to their full span. They didn’t move far before Castiel flinched and quickly tucked his wings back towards his body, wrapping them slightly around his sides.

“Ow.”

Dean laughed, catching hold of Castiel’s arm and pulling him closer. “Be careful, man.”

Their foreheads touched as they leaned into one another. Neither one spoke for some time. Finally, Castiel filled the silence.

“If you are broken, and I am broken, then perhaps it is good that we have one another so that we may have a chance at being whole someday.”

“Yeah,” Dean said smiling, watching Castiel as he carefully, stiffly curled his wings about them both.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment! I enjoy hearing feedback and constructive criticism.


End file.
